


You Can Cry Wolf, But Stop Running

by iamursforevrmre



Series: Root, Root, Root for Derek Hale's Butt in Baseball Pants [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball, Developing Relationship, Hale family is still alive, Kate Never Happened, Long-Distance Relationship, Los Angeles Dodgers, M/M, Only a year age difference between Stiles and Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamursforevrmre/pseuds/iamursforevrmre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is the third baseman for the Los Angeles Dodgers. Stiles doesn’t know why he has an apparent <em>thing</em> for third basemen and he has no clue why he’s even watching the Dodgers. He’s a <em>Mets</em> fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Cry Wolf, But Stop Running

**Author's Note:**

> I would really like to thank Google for supplying me with endless information at 4 o’clock in the morning on most nights, because I bleed Cubbie blue and only thing I really knew about the Dodgers before writing this was that they acquired Ted Lily and Ryan Theriot (although Theriot isn’t on the Dodgers anymore) from the Cubs.
> 
> I also would like to note that while some of the facts/statistics/rosters/schedules are correct, some have been altered to fit the plot of the story.

Stiles sighs, leaning back in his chair as the search browser loads. His leg is jumping up and down at a steady pace, fingers drumming against the armrests as his search for _why do cats meow_ loads. He’s so bored, so incredibly bored and he can still hear Scott’s lame excuse to blow him off again ringing in his ears. 

He jerks his chair in an upright position and then pushes his body back down against it. It squeaks as it leans back, filling the silence of the room.

Stiles absentmindedly scrolls through the WebMD page on Meowing as he hears his dad’s footsteps clumping down the stairs. 

He’s about to click the back button to search _why do dogs bark_ so he can compare the two when a window pops up, distracting his thought process. It’s a request to video chat with Scott.

Stiles sighs, dragging the pointer to hover over the word _Ignore_. Hasn’t Scott gotten the hint that Stiles has been giving the silent treatment for a week and a half now?

They had gotten into a huge fight about Jackson, of all things. Stiles tried to demand what is so great about Jackson – because Jackson and Scott have been hanging out more and more recently. Stiles only really sees Scott during the class they have together now, but of course they share that class with Jackson, too. He knows Scott’s been lying to him, ditching school and he’s become some sort of a lacrosse god all of the sudden – like his asthma just vanished into thin air and he actually gained muscle and endurance.

It doesn’t make sense. 

And while Stiles confronted him about it, he continued to tell him that nothing was wrong and Jackson wasn’t that bad. Jackson (the kid that had thrown Stiles into multiple dumpsters his freshman and sophomore years, the kid that humiliated Stiles with his crush on Lydia in front of the entire junior class last year, the kid that put a dead frog from the Biology lab into Stiles’s backpack last month) isn’t that bad. If Jackson wasn’t that bad, then neither was tuberculosis.

The more times that Stiles ignores Scott’s request means the more times that Scott is going to send the request back. It’s a vicious cycle that will only end with Stiles accepting and becoming the bigger person. He’s really fucking tired of being the bigger person. 

He sighs, watching the monitor fill up with an image of Scott as he clicks _Accept_.

“Hey, dude!” Scott grins at him like he isn’t aware that Stiles has been ignoring him for a week and a half. “You doing anything tomorrow?”

Stiles wants to scream, to punch, to ignore, to lie, but he ends up choking out the truth. “Nope, I was going to hang around at home watch the Mets game or something.”

“Okay, well cancel those plans.” Scott smiles at him, like he’s taunting Stiles with all the secrets he’s hiding from him.

Stiles bites his tongue, not wanting to spit out something nasty at him. Stiles wants to scream at Scott, tell him he has nothing planned because he abandoned him. He wants to yell at him until his throat is dry. More than anything, though, he wants Scott to trust him. 

Suddenly, Scott’s holding up a ticket and waving it around too fast for the webcam to process. He’s grinning like a maniac and Stiles would really appreciate knowing what is so exciting. It’s probably a front row seat to watch Jackson brush his hair or some lame shit like that. 

“Why aren’t you smiling?” Scott demands, getting his kicked puppy expression. And now Stiles feels like he should be smiling, like he’s being a shitty friend, and great. Scott’s making him feel fucking guilty about something he can’t even see.

“Dude, slow down. The picture’s all blurry so I have no clue what you’re holding up,” Stiles explains slowly, like he’s talking to the five year old next door neighbor on why throwing oranges at the siding of the Stilinski house is not nice.

“Oh,” Scott grins sheepishly, “it’s a ticket. For you. To go with me. To the Dodgers game tomorrow.”

“Dodgers game? You mean the Dodgers-Mets game tomorrow?” Stiles may be about to lose his shit right now. Scott is not allowed to do this; he’s not allowed to ignore him for Jackson for two months then magically appear to have enough money saved to take Stiles to a Mets game. “Dude, how?”

“Huh?” Scott stares blankly at Stiles through the webcam for a second then exclaims, “oh! Yeah, Derek Hale, y’know the Dodgers third-baseman, he got us tickets practically on the third-base line.”

How could Stiles not know Derek Hale? He was the hometown hero, the kid that finally made it, the face of Beacon Hills. 

He got drafted right after he graduated from high school last year and has been working his way up to the top of the franchise. Because not only is he in the running for Rookie of the Year and has the most stolen bases for the season (after just surpassing Tony Campana of the Chicago Cubs after his last stolen base), he’s also almost beating records set by some of MLB’s finest and most known. 

Even if Stiles wasn’t from Beacon Hills and didn’t see the Hale and Dodger merchandise everywhere he turned, he would know him from the ESPN commentators voicing their praises after every game that he starts.

“How the hell do you know Derek Hale?” Stiles questioned, because that was a part of the story that he didn’t get. 

Even though they go to the same high school that Derek Hale attended just last year before graduating, they’re still a year behind him and neither of them actually plays baseball. Neither of them have ever had a class with him or any reason to associate with him. And he also knows for a fact that Scott has been terrified of the Hale family since he was 3 years old and Laura growled at him at the supermarket in the drink aisle. 

“Oh, uh, he’s just an old friend?” Scott paused, looking down at the tickets in his hands, “Yeah, old friend. Well, anyways, Jackson and I will pick you up at noon tomorrow.”

Before Stiles could even get a _“wait, what?!”_ out about the new piece of information that _Jackson_ was tagging along (even if it was more like Stiles was tagging along), Scott had disconnected and Stiles was only left with a black screen. 

*

Scott and Jackson stumble through the threshold of Stiles’s house drunk with laughter at exactly noon. Both boys are dressed in matching white Dodger jerseys with an embroidered 13 on the front of the button-up. 

Stiles can’t figure out why they’re laughing until they turn back around to go out to the car with Stiles trailing behind them. The last name _Hale_ is big and bold on their backs and Stiles can only assume that this is why they’re laughing so hard.

The drive to Dodgers Stadium is one of the most painfully silent and awkward drives that Stiles has ever to endure and he’s almost positive that this is the longest that he’s ever voluntarily been in the same place with Jackson Whittemore for an extended amount of time. 

Scott pulls into the cheapest parking lot a couple of blocks away from the stadium. The streets and sidewalks are spilling with people dressed in blue. Almost every bar that they pass in jam-packed and the smells of hotdogs, hamburgers and fries are hitting them at full force after every turn. 

Getting past security and into the stadium is fairly easy since they still have a couple hours until the first pitch is thrown. Stiles can feel his attitude shift, though. Because baseball games are still fun, even if he’s with Jackson and the number of Dodgers fans significantly outweigh the than Mets fans.

Their seats are in section 27 and in row 1. Stiles thought Scott was exaggerating when Scott told him that their tickets were practically on the third-base line, but they are and they’re directly next to the Dodgers’ dugout. 

Stiles may or may not be internally fangirling because he’s going to be _this close_ to the Mets third baseman, David Wright.

He doesn’t even notice he’s alone until he sees Scott and Jackson talking to Hale a few feet away. Stiles rolls his eyes and looks around the stadium since the last time he was here was five years ago and he was with his mom. There are a few other players scattered around signing baseballs for little kids that are swarming around the aisles. 

Stiles redirects his eyes towards Scott just in time to see Hale smile, and shit. Stiles does not remember being this attracted to him last year when he saw him in the halls of their high school. 

A few minutes later, Scott is bounding back over to him with a pout, “Why didn’t you come talk to him with us?”

“Uh, cause I don’t know him and like to avoid as many awkward social situations as I can since I make enough of them?”

Scott stares at him for a few seconds, like he’s trying to decide whether or not this is an acceptable answer before flinging himself down in the seat next to him and bringing his arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

Harang is up in the rotation for the Dodgers, and Stiles watches him come out of the dugout and bumping fists with Hale as he signs a ball that a kid is holding in outstretched hands. Stiles really wants to hate Derek Hale, but it’s really hard to when he looks that fucking good in pair of baseball pants. And the stubble. Oh and fuck that eyeblack, too.

More seats start to fill up around them, and it seems like it’s going to be a full house tonight. There’s a Sea of Blue in the stadium and it’s not hard to tell the navy blue of the Mets fans from the Dodger blue.

It’s the first game of the three-game series between them, and Stiles can’t even wipe the little grin he’s sporting, not even with the secretive looks Hale and Scott are exchanging with Jackson looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing inning and even with the Mets losing in the bottom of the sixth. 

Stiles is enjoying himself more than he thought he would; he’s finally hanging out with his best friend, Wright tipped his hat at him in the bottom of the fourth, and there’s a Mets fan behind him that is drunk and trash talking with Stiles and slapping his hand every time the Mets score or make the third-out without letting the Dodgers do too much damage. 

It’s _fun_ and Stiles definitely wasn’t expecting that.

In the top of the seventh, Wright is leads off the inning against Dodgers’ relief pitcher Tolleson. The count gets to 2-2 before Wright hammers the next pitch to deep-center field. Stiles and the guy behind him jump up to their feet, yelling at the ball to get over the wall. 

Kemp watches the ball fly over, and Stiles yells with the guy behind him, turning to slap his hand against the guy’s as Wright touches each base. When the drunk guy and Stiles settle down, he sits down to find that Scott and Jackson’s seats are empty. 

They don’t return by the bottom of the ninth, the Mets lose and Stiles definitely isn’t having fun anymore.

*

Stiles finds himself walking towards the sports bar located right across from the stadium. He gets rid of most of the masses of people walking from the game, and attempts to get to the back of the restaurant to get a spot at the bar. He pushes through, receiving too many weird looks and stares because of his Mets gear to actually car. Stiles plops down on an empty barstool and orders a beer.

Stiles fishes out his wallet and flashes his fake ID at the bartender. How the hell is he going to get home if he can’t find Scott? He gets his phone out of his pocket and loads the internet browser. Maybe he can find a train from LA to Beacon Hills.

As he’s slipping out the bills to pay, a hand on his wrist stops him. Stiles looks up to find that he’s face-to-face with Derek Hale, Beacon Hill’s finest. Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but he’s too surprised to even choke out a greeting. Derek is even more attractive than he’d like to admit. He’s in a button-down and he sloppily wiped away the eyeblack on his cheeks. 

“On me, even though you’re wearing a Wright jersey. Seriously, man? Can’t even support your hometown third baseman?” Derek smirks at him, taking the seat beside him and ordering another Bud. Stiles can feel the stares of everyone as Los Angeles’s favorite third baseman and the random guy in the Mets jersey sharing a drink. Stiles can’t decide what he wants to do more; find Scott so he can punch in the face or puke.

“What’s the Sheriff’s boy doing with a fake? Don’t worry, I won’t tell ‘cause I’d get busted, too.” And then Derek fucking _winks_ at Stiles. He wants to scream at Derek to get the fuck _away_ from him, but he still can’t find his voice. Stiles grits his teeth together and chugs back some beer. A few fans congratulate him on the win and even a girl comes up to awkwardly flirt with him. Stiles feels so out of place.

“Where’s Scott?” Stiles manages to get out. He turns his head to look at Derek take another swig of his beer and _fuck_ if Stiles didn’t want to punch him in the gut so much, he’d risk the thought of Derek being ridiculously attractive.

“I don’t have a leash on him,” And because Derek’s an asshole, he smiles at Stiles like he’s missing the best part of his joke. 

“Why has he been acting so weird lately? Apparently you guys are _old friends_ and I figure by the little secretive looks that you guys shared, you know each other more than I thought and I would appreciate knowing, because Scott is like, literally my only friend. Not to make myself sound like a total loser or anything.” Stiles immediately regrets saying anything. Why does he always make himself sound like a total reject in front of attractive people?

Not that he thinks Derek Hale is attractive. No, sir. No way in hell. 

Derek takes a few swigs before turning to face Stiles with a wolfish grin. If this was under different circumstances and he had a few more beers in him, Stiles would probably be leaning over and licking his teeth or something equally embarrassing. 

“It is the very error of the moon; she comes more nearer earth than she was wont, and makes men mad.” Derek’s voice is smooth, almost like a predator’s, and his wolfish grin get even more, well, _wolfish_. And that’s when Stiles realizes that Derek just _quoted Shakespeare from memory_. Fuck him, seriously. Fuck. Him.

Derek’s not allowed to be ridiculously attractive, remarkable at baseball, and able to quote literature from memory. Doesn’t he understand that Stiles can’t afford to pine after anyone else that’s out of his league? It just ends up with lonely Friday nights. 

“Did you just quote Shakespeare at me?” 

Derek only smirks at Stiles before turning back to his drink, leaving Stiles to silently freak out in his own mind. This was not okay. Where the fuck was Scott? He needed to get away from here, like now.

“Jackson had an emergency so he and Scott had to leave. I can drive you home.” Derek tells him, because he can apparently read minds now.

“You don’t have to. I can look up the train times and take one back home,” Stiles shrugs, circling the pad of his finger on the nozzle of his bottle. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Derek rolls his eyes at him, “I was heading home tonight anyways and you’re on the way to my house.”

Once they finish their drinks, Derek throws a few bills down and leads Stiles out of the bar. Stiles can feel everyone’s eyes turn on them, especially the glares of the drunken women, as they make their way out of the doors. 

“Good, uh, game,” Stiles says and immediately winces.

Derek doesn’t even respond, just chuckles, and they make their way around the stadium. They get stopped a lot, mostly by girls with bleach blonde hair that flip it over their shoulder the second they get Derek’s attention.

They finally round a corner and are standing in front of a gated parking lot. Stiles watches as Derek grins and waves at one of the security guards. One of the guys on duty nods his head and allows the gates to be open, and Derek leads Stiles to his black Camaro, the same one that he drove in high school.

Stiles has a feeling this might be the worst car ride ever, even worse than the ride up here. He silently composes a text message full of hate to send to Scott.

*

Stiles hates grocery shopping with a passion, but their fridge and cabinets are empty and his dad sucks at refilling them. Plus, when Stiles lets his dad do the shopping, they end up with food loaded with sodium and the wrong brands of items (he also always buys the chunky peanut butter and Stiles absolutely hates chunky peanut butter. He has a theory that his dad does it in spite of him).

When he walks through the sliding doors, Stiles tries to think of a plan to get in and out as fast as possible, but seeing as they’re almost out of everything at home, he might have to go aisle to aisle. He sighs and grabs a cart before walking through the next set of sliding doors.

He’s somewhere between aisle three and four when he realizes that they managed to re-arrange the entire store between the last time he was here and Stiles is so lost. Aisle three is supposed to contain cereal, pop tarts and granola bars, but he’s staring at cans of soup. Stiles feels aggravated and angrily shoves four cans of Cream of Celery in his cart. So much for this being a quick trip.

While he’s in aisle six, Stiles is trying to figure out whether he should get the ketchup that’s fat free or contains less sodium. He huffs in annoyance while he compares the labels when he sees a lady out of the corner of his eye. She looks strangely familiar and Stiles really wants to turn and look at her, but he’s not sure how to go about it without being noticed. 

“Stiles?” The woman asks, and Stiles is whips his head to the side to finally see who she is. And of course, because the universe hates him, it’s none other that Derek’s older sister. 

“Yeah, um, Laura?” Stiles asks, because this very odd. He’s never directly met Laura or ever talked to her; but it seems that everyone in Beacon Hills knows who is who. 

“Oh, I thought that was you,” She grins at him and when Stiles blinks, she seems to be closer than she was a moment ago. “I heard my brother drove you home from the game last week; I hope he was alright company in the car.”

Stiles gets that same strange feeling in the pit of his stomach when Derek is mentioned in a conversation. He nods at her in response; he’s not sure he trusts himself to talk since he’s not exactly sure what he’d say to her. 

When Stiles blinks again, it seems that Laura is even closer and doing something odd – like trying to _sniff_ discreetly. She has this predatory look on her face and Stiles is starting to feel a little bit more nervous. He’s trying to think of a convincing escape strategy, but he’s coming up short.

“My brother always used to talk about you in high school, I kind of see why now.” She smiles at Stiles like there are so many things that she’s holding back. “He wouldn’t shut up last week, either. I feel like I already know you.” 

Before Stiles can even process anything Derek related, she’s tilting her head slightly to the left like she’s straining to hear something. She only seems to be distracted for a second before her posture is back to normal and she’s smiling widely and brightly at Stiles.

“I have to go. It was very nice seeing you, Stiles.”

As Laura walks away, Stiles is overtaken by the same confusion that her brother leaves him with. He can’t even seem to wrap his brain around the fact that Derek’s been talking about him to his _family_ when it seemed like Derek wasn’t even too fond of him in high school. 

*

Stiles gets home from school on Tuesday afternoon and throws himself down on the couch. He reaches for the remote on the coffee table to turn the T.V. on to fill the silence in the house. 

He flips a few channels, and settles on the Dodgers game. Stiles watches Derek step up to the plate, tapping the plate before giving a half-swing and bringing the bat up his shoulder to relax and wait for the pitcher. 

Derek lines the ball to center field, and Stiles watches as the camera focuses on Derek rounding the base. Ethier steps up to the plate, and the Belisle tries to pick Derek off at first a few times before actually pitching the ball. Ethier gets the count to 2-1 before Derek steals second, diving in head-first, and beating the ball to the bag by a good two seconds. Stiles watches Derek call for time and stand up to dust off his pants.

“Wait, what the fuck am I even doing?” Stiles asks himself before quickly changing the channel. He’s not even a Dodgers fan; he only watches them when they play the Mets. Stiles mentally vows to never tell anyone that he almost watched the Dodgers play the Rockies. 

And if he happens to jerk off in the shower later to the image of Derek in his uniform with eye black running down his face with his sweat, well, no one has to know about that either.

*

The next night, things get even weirder than Stiles watching a Dodgers-Rockies game. He’s on the MLB website, looking at the NL East standings when he gets a text from an unknown number.

_hey stiles, it’s derek. i got your number from scott. i know he apologized for what happened at the game, but i wanted to apologize too._

Stiles felt confused, what did _Derek_ have to apologize for? Sure, the car ride home was awkward, but that was mostly because they knew nothing about each other and Stiles was silently fuming. Scott and Jackson were the ones that left him, Derek did nothing wrong.

_am i ever going to get an explanation for scott and jackson’s weird behavior?_

Stiles bit his lip and tried to go back to wallowing that the Mets were 14 games out of first place in their division. He kept checking his phone every two seconds, waiting to see Derek’s response. This was weird; things like this don’t happen to Stiles. 

_maybe one day_

_cryptic_

By the time that Stiles shut down his computer, he had another text in his inbox from Derek.

_subject change?_

Stiles was in disbelieve, because this doesn’t happen to him. He doesn’t get lucky with guys (or even girls); he can’t believe that someone like _Derek Hale_ would want to keep voluntarily talking to him. 

_i thought you hated me in high school? is that a good enough change?_

Stiles can’t stop fidgeting and he can’t believe this is his life. He can feel something in the pit of his stomach and it’s _weird_ because he’s never been nervous like this for a _text message_ before. Not even Lydia’s. 

_no dude i thought you were hilarious_

The last thing Stiles does before falling asleep that night is saving Derek’s number in his contact list. Stiles makes a mental note to check his phone in the morning to see if all the texts from Derek were a dream or not.

*

It isn’t a dream, and the weird thing is that _Derek keeps texting him_. It’s weird, two weeks ago he would have sworn that Derek thought he was an annoying little shit that didn’t even know how to walk or be anything but awkward. 

But he and Derek were _friends_. And Stiles is becoming a _Dodgers fan_. He’s sure his mom is rolling in her grave over that.

Derek sends him a lot of random texts. Most of them are about stupid shit his teammates do, some are about ridiculous hotel staff, some are just about hating traveling so much in general and he’s so glad he’s still in California, and others are about annoying girls that always come up to him. He sends him a lot of pictures, too. The pictures are mostly anything that he finds enjoyable; stadiums, people, streets, dogs, the gross beer on tap at a bar, and a lot of other random shit that he encounters. Stiles kind of ridiculously enjoys it.

Stiles doesn’t send him as many pictures, but he’s always sure to take a picture of something Beacon Hills related whenever Derek says he feels home sick. He feels ridiculously and embarrassingly attached to Derek, like a lot. 

Stiles finds himself paying attention the highlights on ESPN when they get to the Dodgers, actually keeping the Dodgers games on when they’re on T.V., and even flipping to the AM station when he knows that there’s a game on. 

Derek’s texts (like _dude i need to take you to philly, cheese steaks are fucking delicious_ and _apart from not being able to text you, canada is pretty cool._ and _quick! send me a picture of your face, i miss it_ ) are definitely worth the looks he’s getting from his dad ever since they got the monthly phone bill.

*

“Dad, can you – ” He cuts himself off to see his dad sitting on the couch, beer in hand, watching the T.V. Stiles plops down on the couch next to his dad, eyes falling on the screen to see the Dodgers go into extras. 

“Wait for the game to be over?” His dad asks, but Stiles has already lost his train of thought when he catches a glimpse of Derek hustling out onto the field. Stiles can’t find himself able to tear his eyes from the screen – even when they cut to commercials. 

Stiles can see his dad turn to face him out of the corner of his eye, but Vin Scully’s voice cuts in and the game is back on. His dad’s attention snaps back to the game and they the only sound heard are the broadcasters’ voices. 

“Jansen has really been a gem in these late innings,” A voice supplies from the television. 

“The 25 year old has really done great things coming from this bullpen late in the game,” Another voice supplies, adding to the conversation. “I always feel comfortable with him on the mound in situations like these.”

“In case you’re just joining us now,” The first voice comes in as Jansen takes a few warm-up throws, “Lily returned from the DL to throw a solid six and one-third innings only allowing two. Our own Derek Hale tied up the game in the seventh with a two-run double and now here we are in the top of the tenth.”

Stiles felt a little bit of pride swell in his chest after hearing Derek’s name and he couldn’t pinpoint _why_. He bites back a grin and tries to sit next to his dad as nonchalantly as he can.

Jansen plows through the side, throwing a total of fourteen pitches in the top of the tenth to pile on another three strikeouts. The broadcasters are voicing their praises as they cut to the commercials before Kemp leads the bottom of the tenth inning followed by Hale. 

Stiles can feel nerves gathering in the pit of his stomach and he doesn’t know _why_ because he’s a _Mets_ fan, he doesn’t give a shit about the fucking _Dodgers_. (Even as he tries to convince himself that in his head, he knows it’s a lie).

When the game comes back on, Stiles slides up on the couch to lean forward to sit with his elbows on his knees. He’s given up on being nonchalant, instead he’s chewing on his bottom lip and he can feel his dad staring at him like he’s crazy.

Kemp gets walked with four consecutive balls and Stiles just about loses it when Derek steps up to the plate. Stiles can feel his heart stuck in his throat when they show Derek’s relaxed stance, waiting for the ball to be pitched. The ball is thrown and Derek swings; the camera shows the ball flying off the bat and follows it fly towards straight-away center field.

“The balls going back, back!” The announcer’s voice gets more excited with each word, “Trout is at the wall, jumping, but the ball is out of reach! Homerun! HOMERUN! Derek Hale has just hit a walk-off, two-run homer to win the game in the bottom of the tenth!”

Kemp and Hale are shown, trotting around the bases, with smiles plastered on their faces. Stiles is trying to bite back his own grin as the rest of the team is shown jumping Derek as he crosses the plate.

“What did you want to ask me, son?” The Sheriff asks, and Stiles turns to him, face blank. “You came down here earlier, asking me something?”

“Huh? Oh, I guess I forgot.” Stiles shrugs as he slides his phone out of his pocket. He can feel his dad’s questioning stare, but he focuses on his fingers tapping the right letters as he sends a text to Derek saying _nice hit, asshole._

It’s not until a few hours later, but when he checks his phone, he has a text from Derek. _do my eyes deceive me? stiles stilinski, THE stiles stilinski, watching a dodgers game?_ Stiles grins until he falls asleep that night. 

*

Stiles finds himself flipping between Mets and Dodgers games when their game times conflict and even watching more games with his dad when he’s home between shifts. Scott and Jackson still spend most of their time together without him, but Stiles can’t seem to care because Derek has been kind of consuming all of his attention. He keeps texting him, and sometimes Stiles can’t tell if he’s _flirting_ or not.

Why does he even think that a _Major League baseball player_ would have a crush on him anyways? Stiles really needs to stop doing this to himself. 

Stiles has ESPN on while he’s eating a bowl of Capt’n Crunch and bumming on the couch when the highlight reel comes on. It’s counting backwards from the top ten plays of the week and when they reach number two, it’s Derek making a diving stop towards the line to get a double play. 

_that six-four-three double play was pretty sick._

He shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth to busy himself while he waits for a response. Why does Derek make him so nervous? They’re barely even friends. 

_is this your roundabout way of telling me that you want a hale jersey for your graduation present?_

Stiles snorts down at his phone, rolling his eyes at Derek’s response. He would never admit it out loud to anyone, but he wouldn’t mind getting a Hale jersey. Sure, he’d be like every other stupid teenage girl in Beacon Hills with a crush on Derek, but it seems like lately he’s no better that any other teenage girl. 

_hell no. i’ll stick to my mets._

_stop acting like youre not a dodgers fan now._

_in your dreams, hale._

Stiles grins down at his phone, shoving another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and attempting to turn his attention back to the T.V. instead of his phone. He would just like to know when he turned into a thirteen-year-old-girl.

*

A few days later, Stiles is in Calculus and flying through the example problems of finding the anti-derivatives of functions when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Stiles risks a glance up to see his teacher distracted by something on the computer so he slides his phone out to see a text from Derek. 

_how does it feel knowing that youre in school while i’m at citi field getting ready for another dodger win?_

He tries to stifle a snort before replying with _in your dreams, hale. i’m betting on a mets victory tonight._

Stiles attempts to return to the problems still left on the paper, but he’s distracted by Derek’s immediate response.

_screw that plan, you should place your bets on me ;)_

Stiles bites his lip and is so glad that no ones looking up and at him to see the blush creeping its way onto his cheeks. He can’t figure out something to say that would make him look like a complete dork, so he slides his phone back in his pocket and tries to focus. His attention is completely shot.

When the final bell of the day rings, Stiles shoots out of the building and into his Jeep so he can get home at least by the bottom of the third. If Stiles gets stopped by any officer, he’s going to blame it on the Mets, not the fact that he kind of wants to see Derek’s face, too.

It turns out that Stiles really should have bet on Derek, because the Mets end up losing in the twelfth inning. It was a pitchers duel between Eovaldi and Niese until the bullpen gave the game away in the extra innings.

And two days later when the Mets fall to three loses in a row and their records falls under .500, due to a sweep by the Dodgers, Stiles scowls at his phone when it vibrates, signaling a text from Derek.

_what size did you want your hale jersey in?_

*

The last month of the school year flies by with school work, watching baseball, and a ridiculous amount of time texting Derek. Before he knows it, school’s wrapping up and he finds himself following the line of kids to rows of folding chair outside onto the lacrosse field for their graduation ceremony. 

He can’t believe he made it this far and he’s still in disbelief as he steps onto the stage to receive his diploma and to flip his tassel. Stiles can hear a small handful of people cheer when his name is announced, but it sounds like its miles away.

After the caps are thrown in the air and the ceremony is over, he rushes over to find his dad standing near the side of the bleachers. He hugs his dad tightly, and he knows that in this moment, they both wish with every bone in their bodies that Stiles’ mom, the Sheriff’s wife, could be here with them. 

“I’m so proud of you, son, and your mother would be, too” His dad mumbles into the hug and Stiles hadn’t wanted to cry at any point in the ceremony until now. He tightens his arms around his dad before releasing him and grinning at no one in particular. He feels so free.

“Hey, Stiles,” He heard a voice call from behind him. It was familiar, it sounded a little bit like, Derek’s, but that couldn’t be possible. Wasn’t he supposed to be in Toronto? 

But when he spins around, he sees none other than Derek Hale, hometown hero, Los Angeles Dodgers’ third basemen, grinning at him in a button-down shirt and a pair of jeans. Stiles’ mouth waters and he’s having trouble figuring out whether or not he looks better in baseball pants or tight jeans.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles demands and he just knows his dad is looking at him with this _knowing_ look, but he’s mostly trying to figure out whether or not it would be weird to hug Derek right now. 

“Off day,” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal that he’s here. Derek walks closer and Stiles notices that he’s got something in his hands. It’s a something that’s wrapped in dark blue paper and Stiles is almost instantly curious. “My cousin graduated, too.”

“So, um, is it weird if I-I hug you?” Stiles asks, he’s in too much of a good mood to be embarrassed. He just graduated from high school, he’s allowed to want to hug everyone, right?

“No, definitely not,” Derek laughs, stepping forward to embrace Stiles. Stiles grins, wrapping his arms tightly around Derek’s neck. He can feel Derek wrap his arms around him, and all Stiles wants to do is nuzzle into Derek’s neck. Derek squeezes him tightly before letting go. “Hey, so this is for you.”

Derek’s grinning wickedly at him and Stiles is about ninety-nine percent sure he knows what’s wrapped, but he’s still too excited to act like he’s mad. He rips the wrapping paper off and is looking down at a Dodgers jersey. It has a number 13 embroidered on the back, and when Stiles unfolds it, he can read the name _Hale_.

“I officially hate you,” Stiles snorts, tracing his fingers over the H of his last name. “Like seriously. So much hate.”

“No you don’t,” Derek grins at him, “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Y-yeah, totally,” Stiles stutters out and instantly feels like a huge moron. “Text you or something.”

Derek’s grinning wide and bright at him while he walks away to join his sister a couple feet away. Stiles watches them, how his sister, says something to get him to roll his eyes and shove her as they make their way over to the rest of their family.

“I didn’t get it at first, but I understand why you watch the Dodgers with me now.” The Sheriff says, laughing as he rests his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles smacks his hand over his face and groans. 

*

“Hale steps up to the plate, and man, this kid has been nothing but phenomenal this season.” The radio broadcaster says, and Stiles isn’t sure which one it is. He rubs a hand over his face before returning it to the steering wheel. He’s made a horrible habit out of listening to the Dodgers on 920. He fucking hates the am frequency. “He’s been nothing short of great on defense and offense.”

“I have to agree with you. I admit, I was a bit nervous when I heard that there was this new kid straight out of a small town coming to play in the majors, but he is one of the most well-rounded rookies to ever step on the field.”

“There’s the crack of the bat and Hale is out of the box and rounded first, onto second with a stand-up double! If my information is right, he has just tied the league high for doubles.”

“Man, this kid is something else. He’s going to do nothing but impact this program on this five-year deal he has with the Dodgers.”

The other man laughs, “If he keeps playing like this, I’m not sure I ever want to see the Dodgers get rid of him.”

*

Because the Sheriff thinks he’s hilarious, a week later he leans into the doorframe leading into Stiles’ room, laughing as he presents two tickets to the Dodgers game. Stiles looks up from his laptop and makes a face.

“No,” Stiles says firmly, going back to looking up stats on the official MLB website. He attempts to ignore his dad in the doorway, but it doesn’t last long.

“What, you don’t want to go see your boyfriend play?” The Sheriff asks, finally stepping into his son’s room and laughing even harder at the look Stiles gives him.

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend, dad!” Stiles’ voice raises a few octaves and he attempts to glare at his dad.

“Whatever you say, son. We’ll leave in an hour.”

“ _Dad_!” 

The Sheriff grins, “You know that I don’t have a problem with you liking a guy, right?”

Stiles groans, letting his head fall down onto the desk and bringing it back down to thump a few more times. He can hear his dad’s laughter as it trails down the hallway and into his own room. 

So that’s how Stiles finds himself surrounded by the smell of beer and hotdogs, seated in a plastic chair in Dodger Stadium, and wearing a jersey with the name Hale on the back of it (because Dad glared at him when Stiles trampled down the stairs in a Mets t-shirt and made him put the jersey over his shirt). He absolutely may be pouting. 

He snaps a picture of himself frowning and sends it to Derek along with the text _i hate my life_.

The Sheriff chooses that exact moment to make his way back over and plop down in the seat beside Stiles, handing him his hotdog and Mountain Dew. He looks at Stiles’ phone and rolls his eyes and looks like he’s about to comment on Stiles’ lack of ability to do anything now without texting Derek.

“You know, if we were in Chicago right now, you’d get your ass kicked for having a hot dog with only ketchup on it.” He says, pointedly ignoring anything Derek related and Stiles is forever grateful.

“Good thing we’re not in Chicago because this is delicious.” Stiles says around his mouth full of hotdog. The Sheriff rolls his eyes fondly and turns to look back down at the field.

“Shut up and watch your boyfriend so you can text him about it later,” 

Stiles takes back everything about being grateful for his dad refraining from commenting on anything Derek related because he should have known this was coming. Stiles makes a disapproving noise, but doesn’t even bother arguing.

Seeing Derek play from section 161 row 5 seat 2 is ten times better than witnessing him play from the couch back at the Stilinski household. He’s allowed to watch Derek throughout the whole game, not just when the camera gets him. 

Stiles is able to observe Derek take practice swings while he’s in the batters box and practice groundballs while the pitcher is warming up, he’s allowed to see Derek stand idly between pitches while his hand briefly resting in his back pocket, and he’s allowed to see the way Derek gets ready after every pitch, like he’s been waiting his whole life to get the next out; things that usually the camera doesn’t focus on. 

It scares the shit on him that his stomach flips when he sees Derek grinning at a teammate or that he feels giddy and _proud_ when he steals a base or gets a base hit. It scares him because this is _Derek_ , the major-leaguer that is too good for Stiles or anything else out of Beacon Hills.

It’s not until much later when Derek responds to the picture that Stiles has sent him; it’s not until after Stiles and his dad have returned home after witnessing yet another Dodger victory and after Stiles has showered, dressed, and gotten ready for bed. 

Stiles’ phone vibrates on the nightstand, signaling a text message and when Stiles blindly grabs his phone, Derek’s name is displayed back at him.

_you look good in blue ;)_

Stiles huffs out a laugh, it’s breathless and quiet, and can feel his stomach tying into knots. He types back a quick reply before placing his phone back on the nightstand.

_i look even better when the logo says mets ;)_

*

Summer in California is hot and there are a few days when the humidity is so thick that Stiles feels like he’s in Hell. There’s nothing much to do in Beacon Hills, especially not in the summer. While most kids set out to Santa Monica, Westwood, or LA to find entertainment, Stiles usually wastes his days on his laptop or watching baseball in his room. 

Today, Stiles feels adventurous enough to switch from the T.V. in his room to the one in the family room by with dad. He plops down near his dad and kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

“No Scott?” The Sheriff asks, traces of anger and confusion are in his voice. Neither of them are really sure why Scott cut him completely out of his life, especially when Melissa is still so motherly towards both of the Stilinski men. 

“Nope,” Stiles pops the ‘p’ in the word, “Too cool for me, hanging at the beach with Jackson, Lydia and Allison.”

“And you weren’t invited?” Stiles can hear the frown in his dad’s voice without even looking over at him. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. And, honestly, Stiles would never want to go to the beach. Too much skin showing for his liking.

Stiles snorts before turning to face his dad’s frowning face and rolls his eyes, “Apparently Scott’s too awesome to even talk to me anymore. It’s all JacksonandScott nowadays.”

“Fuck ‘em,” the Sheriff says, resting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, which makes Stiles burst out laughing. His dad never swears and when he does it’s usually something that just slips out. He usually never drops the f-bomb in front of Stiles though.

“Want me to put the Dodger game on?” His dad asks, and Stiles can hear the smirk in his voice. 

“You know, I was just thinking about how awesome of a dad you are. I no longer think.”

Stiles listened to his dad laugh while he flipped to ESPN. They sat in silence while the commentators went back and forth about the San Francisco Giants. A highlight reel of impressive plays thus far through the season rolled through as they discussed the amount of Giants in the All-Star Game and their chances of a pennant this season. 

“Not to go off, but while we’re on the topic of the All-Star game,” The older guy veered the topic in a scripted manner, “Is anyone else impressed by the talent shown by the Dodger’s rookie third baseman?”

“I can’t escape him!” Stiles groans and drops his head into his hands as his dad’s mocking laughter fills the air. 

“Hale is exactly what that program needs; I know a lot of people were a little shaky about a small-town boy coming, but he was a great short-term and long-term decision in terms of this Dodger franchise.”

*

“It’s a beautiful day here in the Friendly Confines of Wrigley Field for some Dodger baseball.” Monday’s voice comes over the static, “We’re here in Chicago on the corner of Addison to see the Boys in Blue before the All-Star break.” 

“In case you were wondering, representing the Dodgers for the National League team are lefty pitcher Kershaw, center-fielder Kemp and rookie third-baseman Hale. You can tune-in at 7 pm on Tuesday to watch the American League and the National League battle it out at Citi Field.”

Stiles bites his lip to keep from grinning and he can feel his stomach flip. He tries to keep his eyes on the road and shift smoothly, but all he’s thinking about is Derek in a pair of tight baseball pants.

“Enough with that, though, and lets bring it back to Wrigley as Volstad tosses ball one to Gordon to start off this ballgame.”

*

The ringing of the doorbell causes Stiles to startle awake and send him groggily looking around for his phone. He groans to see the time is 9:07 and that he has 3 missed texts. All of them are from Derek. The doorbell rings again, causing Stiles to sleepily stumble down the hallway and throw the front door open. 

He opens the door to reveal none other than Derek Hale standing on his porch with his hand almost pushing down on the doorbell again. Stiles tries to muster up all the frustration he can, but it’s difficult when Derek’s standing at his door in a tight dark grey v-neck and baggy black Nike sweatpants. 

“Oh, good, you’re up,” Derek smiles at him, like he didn’t just wake Stiles up in one of the most obnoxious ways ever.

“Yeah, wonder why.” Stiles retorts back, but his voice cracks halfway through and his mouth and throat feel dry from sleep.

“Aren’t you gonna invite me in, sleepyhead?” 

“Why the hell are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be in New York for the All Star Game tomorrow?” Stiles asks, hand coming to run through his hair to occupy himself. His hair feels all over the place and _oh God_ Stiles probably looks absolutely ridiculous right now.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Derek smiles, pushing around Stiles to get inside and out of the Californian summer heat. Stiles isn’t awake enough to process any of this, all he knows is that Derek’s _here_. 

“I don’t really need you to rub it in my face again that you’re playing at Citi Field with Dickey and Wright.” Stiles points out, closing the door and walking past Derek into the kitchen. He pours himself a cup of coffee, waiting for Derek to respond.

As Stiles tilts the mug towards his mouth, Derek comes up and snatches it out of his hands. Stiles simply raises an eyebrow at him, demanding an explanation. He doesn’t do well running on four hours of sleep and getting his coffee grabbed out of his hands, regardless if it’s a cute guy or his dad.

“Our flight leaves in two hours, you don’t have enough time to drink this.”

“What the fuck do you mean, _our flight_?” Stiles demands.

Derek grins at him, slow and easy. He’s letting the suspense arise and making Stiles wait because he’s a total dick. Does he not know that Stiles doesn’t cooperate well in the morning?

“Oh, your dad didn’t tell you?” Derek’s voice is teasing, eyes sparking with mischief. 

“Tell me what?”

“I’m stealing you away for the All Star Break. You’re going to New York with me; I’ve already got you a ticket for the plane and the game.” 

“I-um-I- _what_?” Stiles really wishes Derek started making sense right now, because none of this was at the moment. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean _what do I mean_? I just told you.” Derek is grinning at him, showing Stiles all of his teeth. How does someone manage to look this good at 9 o’clock in the morning? “You should probably start packing now. We’re leaving this afternoon and we’ll be home Wednesday night.”

“If this is a joke, it isn’t very funny.” Stiles says, arms crossing over his chest and narrowing his eyes.

Derek didn’t even respond to him, just rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone. He huffs out a breath in annoyance and it looks like he’s scrolling through something. A few seconds later, he taps on something and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Sheriff,” Stiles watches the smile form on Derek’s face from something that his dad said, “Yeah, you wanna talk to him? He doesn’t believe me.”

Derek shoves his phone at Stiles, leaning against the counter almost like he’s bored. Stiles really wants to grab him by his shirt and drag him upstairs to his bedroom. Not while he’s on the phone with his dad, though. That would be awkward and his dad would probably be really smug.

“Stiles,” he hears his name through his phone. “You there, kid?”

“If this is a joke, it’s not very funny.” Stiles repeats to his dad, eyeing Derek suspiciously.

“It’s not a joke for Christ’s sake. Can’t I do something nice for my son and his boyfriend?” 

“He’s not my – ” Stiles really doesn’t want to say the last word to make things awkward between himself and Derek. Because apparently they have about a 5 hour flight ahead of them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Think of it as a late graduation present.”

“Seriously?” Stiles squeaks out, because he can’t believe this. He can’t believe his dad, the Sheriff, is letting him fly across the country just to watch two of his favorite Mets players (and maybe Derek, but he’s still not letting himself admit it) play a game.

“Your mom always wanted to take you out there. Just be safe, okay? Call me when you land.” The Sheriff hangs up and Stiles is left to face a very smug looking Derek Hale as he drags Stiles upstairs to pack. It takes Stiles all of his strength and will-power not to push Derek down on his bed and kiss him senseless.

*

“You tired?” Derek asks, shifting in the backseat of the cab to look at Stiles. 

Stiles looks over to him and shakes his head; he can feel that his eyes are wide with enthusiasm and he’s trying so hard not to burst at the seams from his excitement. He’s never really strayed far from Beacon Hills and never has gotten out of California before.

Derek leans up to tell the cabbie something, and they pull over to the side of the street. He pays before sliding out of the backseat, and gestures for Stiles to follow him. Stiles slides out, following his lead, and looking up to see that they stopped in front of Citi Field.

“Come on, I got a surprise for you,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ wrist and pulling him forward to walk with him. Stiles is trying to keep up, but he keeps trying to bend his head to look up at the stadium. He feels Derek tug at his wrist, and he snaps his neck forward and jogs a couple steps to get back in pace.

Stiles really wishes he had the balls to slide his arm back to get Derek to hold his hand. 

“It should be right around the corner,” Derek mumbles, mostly to himself, but Stiles can’t focus on anything else except for the warm, callused fingers on his wrist. When they turn the corner, Derek drops Stiles’ wrist and he can only mourn the loss of contact for a second before he realizes that _David Wright_ is standing right in front of them.

Stiles opens and closes his mouth; he can’t think of anything to say, so he just looks back and fourth between Derek and Wright for a good minute before squeaking out a barely audible, “Hi.”

“Hello, I’m David Wright,” His smile is about as bright as Derek’s and he looks genuinely happy that he’s standing in front of Derek and Stiles on an off day. 

“I-I know,” Stiles replies, mentally face-palming, “I mean, I’m Stiles.”

“Derek’s told me all about you,” His smile grows even larger before gesturing for them to follow him inside, “I was told that you were coming and have never been here before.”

“Y-yeah, that’s true.” Stiles stutters out; he’s feeling nervous and jittery, and he’s trying not to stray too far from Derek. His mind feels completely blank and he can’t seem to find anything to say. 

“I’m a way better tour guide than Derek here,” He swipes a laminate before leading them through another set of doors, “This is the Clubhouse. You want anything? I can make you some pretty shitty coffee.”

Stiles shakes his head mutely before Wright leads them into another room that’s lined with cubbies. Stiles wanders around, silently tracing over the _Dickey, 43_ tag on one of them.

“So, Stiles,” He glances up when he hears his name to see Wright leaning against the doorframe, “Enlighten me. How does a born and raised Californian boy become a die-hard Mets fan?” 

“My mom grew up in Queens,” Stiles said simply and shrugged, “Left New York, went to Berkeley, met my dad, stayed in California with him, had me, then they fought over me being a Dodgers or a Mets fan for probably the first three-fourths of my life.”

“Well that makes sense then,” Wright smiles and it reminds Stiles why he’s had the biggest crush on him since he was 14 and listening watching him on ESPN with his mom. “You ready for the rest of the tour?”

*

“How come I didn’t get a reaction like that out of you?” Derek demands once they’ve gotten to the hotel room and unpacked. Stiles throws himself down on the bed, spreading out like a starfish, and turning on the TV.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Dude, I thought you were going to pass out when we first saw David. And you couldn’t even talk.” Derek points out and it’s not like Stiles wanted to relive that embarrassment at all. 

“Is it officially Lets Mock Stiles time?” he asks, flipping on his stomach to burry his face in his pillow. He takes a deep breath, mentally preparing to embarrass himself again in front of Derek, and turns his head towards him. “I _did_ freak out when I met you. It was more internal, though.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, urging Stiles to go on with his confession. One day, Stiles will learn to keep his mouth shut around Derek to avoid situations like this. One day. And it’ll be great.

“Today was more of a David-Wright-was-my-mom’s-favorite-player-and-I-had-a-crush-on-him-since-I-was-14 kind of freak out,” Stiles admits, playing with a frayed string on his jeans, “When I met you, it was more of a holy-shit-it’s-Derek-Hale-the-fucking-hot-dude-that-attended-my-high-school.”

He can hear Derek laughing at him but he just huffs and rolls his eyes before continuing on. Stiles refuses to meet Derek’s eyes.

“I was quiet practically the entire ride when you drove me home. Do you think that normally happens?” Stiles asks, and he can feel his face heat up. He’s really hoping that Derek can’t notice.

“Aw, you’re blushing!” Derek laughs even harder at him, and Stiles wants to be so annoyed at him. He wants to retort back at Derek to make himself not seem as pathetic, but when he looks up, he’s distracted by Derek’s bright eyes and the sound of his laugh.

Stiles is so, so, so, so, so fucked. 

*

Derek manages to get Stiles a seat right behind home plate for the All-Star Game. It’s by far better than the seats they had at Dodger Stadium, even though Stiles can feel himself involuntarily flinching every time a foul ball is lined off the bat and straight to the backstop.

He kind of hates the fact that he’s alone and surrounded by families; he wishes more than anything that his mom was here sitting next to him. But he catches a glance of Derek in the dugout laughing and joking around with Kemp and Castro, and the feeling that makes its way in his belly is enough to distract him from all of his other thoughts.

Wright starts the game at third, so Stiles forces his eyes to stay in that general area and not let them wander into the dugout to see Derek spitting out seeds or joking around with guys from the other teams. 

Derek’s subbed in at the top of the fourth, and even though the National League is winning by five, he hits a three-run-homerun to extend the lead to eight. He plays the fourth, fifth and sixth innings and doesn’t get any action on defense. At Derek’s last time up to the plate, he gets walked, only to get thrown out in a six-four-three double play by Castro’s groundball to the third baseman. 

When the line-up is changed again and Freese goes in the top of the seventh in place of Derek, Stiles feels that familiar sense of pride that bubbles in his stomach when he watches him on TV or hears him do something great through the radio broadcasters.

The National League ends up winning the game eight to nothing.

*

Stiles doesn’t know what it is; if it’s the way that Derek’s been looking at him the whole day, maybe it’s that they’re in New York or it’s possibly the fact that they’re alone in a hotel room, but he surges forward to seal their lips together. 

Derek responds a second later, pushing Stiles away and off of him. He looks a little shocked, but mostly guilty. 

Stiles can feel his eyes sting; he doesn’t even want to cry, but the feeling of rejection overtakes him and it fucking _hurts_. This is why he doesn’t put himself out there, because he does and he gets pushed away.

“I-I’m so sorry! I, um, I’ll get a different room or something,” Stiles mutters quickly, trying to manage to get himself to his duffle bag without tripping over himself. His limbs feel heavy, he feels unwanted. He feels ugly and stupid and he wishes he were anywhere else in the world. Why was he so stupid?

“No, Stiles, I – ” Derek cuts himself off to grab a hold of Stiles’ wrist to make him stop trying to leave. Stiles tries to flinch away from the contact; he wants to be left alone. “Stiles, please, let me explain.”

Stiles can hear the desperation in his voice and looks up to see Derek’s pleading face. As much as he wants to run out of the room and take the next plane to Beacon Hills, he can’t tear his eyes away from Derek’s or get out of his grip.

“Stiles,” He breathes and pulls him closer, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away.”

“Then why’d you do it?” Stiles demands, searching Derek’s face for any answers. He couldn’t read his face; it was completely blank. 

“Because Stiles I’m never home.” 

“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?” Stiles’ hurt has been replaced by anger. Derek isn’t making any sense and _why couldn’t Derek just kiss him back?_ Stiles isn’t sure that he can take another _“you’re an awesome person, but a better friend”_ speech.

Derek looks conflicted, but ends up lightly pushing Stiles down on the bed. He paces back and forth in front of him, hands weaved in his hair and slightly tugging at it, almost like he’s not sure what he should do right now. Stiles would appreciate his rejection not to be sugarcoated.

“Stiles, I’m never home,” He repeats himself, “I’m gone February through September, sometimes October.”

“If you’re going to reject me, don’t sugarcoat it. Just do it already,” Stiles spits out, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at Derek. He could tell there was something else on Derek’s mind.

“I-I’m _not_ going to reject you! Jesus, I’ve had a crush on you since junior year.” Derek confesses, but he looks even more conflicted, “There’s something that I promised myself I’d tell you, though.”

“What is it?”

“I-I don’t know how to explain it without you freaking out,” He pauses to take a deep breath, and continues pacing. “It involves why Jackson and Scott have been acting so weird.”

Stiles’ curiosity spiked, and he’s up on his feet walking towards Derek before he even completely realizes it. He puts his hands up on Derek’s shoulders to stop him from pacing, forcing him to look into Stiles’ eyes.

“What’s so bad? Are you guys serial killers?”

Derek huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, “No.”

“Armed robbers?”

“No.”

“Then tell me, I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I-I’m – ” Derek stutters out, glancing down at the floor before looking back up at Stiles. His eyes are a completely different color, they’re an electric blue, and his face is changing into something different. “I’m a werewolf, Stiles.”

Stiles moves his right hand off of Derek’s shoulder and slides it up his face. He’s cupping Derek’s face and the pad of his finger is stroking his cheek and his face shifts back into the one that Stiles is used to seeing. The room is completely silent, except for his thundering heartbeat in his ears. 

“Most of my family are werewolves, it’s in our bloodline,” He explains softly, “Scott and Jackson were bit by an alpha that was passing through a few months ago. My mom, the alpha of my pack, took them in since theirs abandoned them.”

“Why didn’t Scott tell me?” Stiles demands and moves his left hand to fist the material of Derek’s shirt in order to keep him in place. He was going to get all the answers he needed out of Derek. 

“To protect you,” Derek said and shrugged, like it was no big deal that Stiles was being deceived for months on end. “Dealing with the supernatural gets messy sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, Scott’s an _idiot_.”

“You’re handling this very well,” Derek pointed out, trying to steer the conversation away from Scott and Jackson. 

“Are there other professional athletes that are, um – uh – y’know,” Stiles stuttered out, gesturing at Derek to blanket the term _werewolf_. He couldn’t think he could say it without breaking out into hysterics.

“Werewolves?” Derek asked, raising a mocking eyebrow at Stiles and grinning, “It’s not a curse word, you know.”

“If you make me say the word I may have a mental breakdown right now.”

“Yeah, there are a few others,” Derek answered, shrugging like it was no big deal. But it’s a huge deal. Stiles feels like he’s about to wake up back in his bed in Beacon Hills. Maybe this whole trip is a really bad fever dream. “Some think it’s an unfair advantage, like steroids.”

“H-how does being, y’know, give you an unfair advantage?” He can still hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest and he thinks his hands might be shaking a little bit. 

“Werewolves are inhumanely stronger and faster,” Derek explains, almost like Stiles is a child, “Better instincts, eye sight, hearing and reaction time.”

Stiles thinks back to all the games and highlight reels he saw Derek diving towards the line to snag a ball before pushing himself to his knees to make his throw across the diamond. He thinks of Scott’s loss of asthma and ability to play lacrosse, and how Scott and Jackson just disappeared on a few nights a month. It makes so much sense now that it’s laid out in front of him. Stiles can’t believe he actually didn’t think of it on his own.

“Why, um, why didn’t you want to tell me?” 

“Supernatural creatures can be dangerous, Stiles. It’s not just werewolves out there. Scott and I didn’t want you to get mixed in with all of this.” Derek explains, reaching out to grab Stiles’ hand. “I made a promise to myself, though, that if we did happen to get involved before Scott told you that I would tell you.”

“So you’re a, um, werewolf.” Stiles says the word hesitantly, like he’s testing the water in a pool. “Scott and Jackson are werewolves, that are in your pack, and your pack is made of werewolves which are most of your family, which have been that way since birth.”

“Humans can be pack, too.” Derek supplied the information, linking their fingers together. “You’re saying it without a mental breakdown. Should I take this as a good sign? But, are you alright? I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“It just makes so much sense,” Stiles laughs a little breathlessly, “I thought, fuck, I don’t even know what I thought was wrong with Scott. I’m so mad at him right now, but I’m so relieved that it’s not something like drugs that he got into.” 

“I just,” Derek started, averting his eyes, “I just wanted you to know that, before anything was to happen between us. Because I like you a lot, Stiles. I have for awhile.”

“If I don’t blow you right now, I think I might explode,” Stiles says, fisting his hands in Derek’s shirt and pushing him back into the wall. “ _Four months_ of watching you in baseball pants. You know what that can do to a guy?”

Stiles doesn’t let Derek react before he’s launching at him again, kissing him with four months worth of sexual frustration. He nips at his bottom lip, while all the noises Derek is making in the back of his throat are going straight to his groin. 

He moves his hands, trailing them down Derek’s chest to grip on his belt loops. Stiles is about to sink to his knees, but someone starts pounding on the door. 

“Looks like I’m going to explode,” Stiles mumbles, dropping his head down onto Derek’s shoulder.

“ _Hale!_ ” The person shouts, “You’re not allowed to hole yourself up in your room with that delicious boy all night!”

“Five minutes,” Derek calls back, and Stiles has never heard him sound so annoyed at anyone before. It makes him grin a little bit.

“Nope,” The person calls back, sounding smug, like they know that they just cockblocked Stiles and Derek. “I was talking to Wright earlier and I want to meet this Stiles boy. If you don’t leave your room in five seconds to go down to the bar, I’m going to ask this lovely lady down the hall with the universal room key to let me in because my best friend is dying.”

“Go _away_ ” Derek calls back, hands settling on Stiles’ hips. Stiles dislodges himself, taking a few steps back, but Derek grabs his hand and pulls him back. He’s a lot stronger than Stiles is.

“Derek, we just won. You’re not allowed to not celebrate. And don’t you _dare_ say you are celebrating because we are being supplied free drinks!” The guy reasons, pounding his fist on the door again. “Seriously, dude. Get the hell out.”

“Sorry,” Derek whispers to Stiles, pressing his lips against Stiles’ briefly before tugging him towards the door, “If I thought he wasn’t being serious, I wouldn’t let you leave this room.”

“’s okay.” Stiles grins, yanking Derek back to kiss him again just because it’s something that he thinks he can do now. Well, he’s going to keep doing it until Derek tells him he needs to stop. Because he likes Derek and he likes kissing Derek a lot. 

*

Stiles walks out of the bathroom to see Derek laying shirtless with pajama pants resting low on his hips. He licks his lips, tearing his eyes away to look at the vacant queen bed closest to him. Stiles takes a deep breath, glancing back at Derek, before making the decision to stride over to Derek’s bed and slide under the covers next to him.

Derek turns his head to grin at Stiles and he can’t hear anything except for his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Derek shifts closer, pressing himself against Stiles’ side. 

“Thanks for sharing your deepest darkest secret,” Stiles breaks the silence, eyes flickering down to Derek’s lips. He watches his mouth stretch out into a smile and Stiles’ breath gets caught in his throat.

“Tell me one of yours,” Derek whispers, grabbing Stiles’ hand and interlocking their fingers.

Stiles glances at his eyes one more time before turning his head towards the ceiling. Derek squeezes his hand, but it feels like Stiles’ heart is going to beat right out of his chest. 

“I haven’t felt this close to my mom since she passed away,” Stiles finally breaks the silence, squeezing his eyes shut. “We planned to visit New York together for a mother-son trip when I turned sixteen. She wanted to take me to Shea Stadium before I moved away.”

Stiles felt Derek squeeze his hand again, letting him know that he was there. He took a deep breath before turning his head back to look at Derek. 

“She was diagnosed with cancer when they announced they were demolishing Shea.” Stiles lets out a laugh, shaking his head, “She was more upset about them demolishing the stadium than finding out she had breast cancer.”

Derek pulls Stiles closer, winding his free arm around his waist. Stiles could feel Derek’s heart beat against his own, and he couldn’t believe how completely gone he was with Derek. 

“David was her favorite player?”

“Man, she loved Wright.” Stiles laughs wetly, “She would always tell Dad that, given the opportunity, she would leave him for Wright in a heartbeat.”

Derek snorts out a laugh, tugging at Stiles until they’re both in a comfortable position. Stiles ends up with his head pressed up against Derek’s chest and being caged in between Derek and the wall. He takes in a deep breath, trying to subtly smell Derek’s aftershave. 

“Th-thanks for bringing me, Derek.” Stiles murmurs, tracing a pattern on Derek’s abdomen with his free hand, “It means a lot.”

Stiles feels lips pressing against the top of his head, and he feels so exhausted all of the sudden. And he so desperately wants to hear Derek’s voice; he wants Derek to talk about anything and everything, he doesn’t even have to make sense, Stiles just _needs_ to hear him say something.

“Tell me more about werewolves,” Stiles whispers into the dark, listening to Derek’s steady heartbeat in his chest. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“You shifted earlier,” Stiles points out, trying to gather all of the thoughts racing in his head. “So, does that mean it doesn’t occur only on full moons?”

“We can shift anytime we want,” Derek explains, fingers soothingly running through Stiles’ hair, “We’re just a lot stronger near and during the full moon.”

“Got any other cool tricks up your sleeves, mister werewolf?” 

“I can hear your heartbeat from two miles away, I can smell emotions, uh, we can heal almost instantaneous,” Derek breaks his train of thought to press another kiss to the top of Stiles’ head, “The healing, though, obviously depends on the wound and what inflicted it.”

“You can smell my emotions? Dude, that’s so embarrassing!” Stiles groans, turning his head to bury it in Derek’s chest. 

Derek snorts out a laugh, “Your scent is so distracting.”

“Do you age differently?” 

“Kind of, I guess, I mean, we’re not completely immortal, like vampires – ”

“ – do vampire exist?!”

“Stiles,” Derek grunts out and Stiles can feel the rumble he makes from his belly. Stiles tips his head up to place a quick kiss on the corner of Derek’s mouth.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“Our aging process is slower than the human’s, but we do still age.” Derek explains, cutting Stiles off as he opens his mouth to ask another question. “I don’t know if vampires exist. We’ve never had to deal with any before.”

“What other kind of supernatural creatures are out there?”

“Nope, time for bed.” Derek declares, pulling the covers up and around the both of them. “You can interrogate me more tomorrow because we’re going to sleep. You’re tired.”

“Can you smell the tiredness on me?” Stiles asks, smirking playfully but he knows Derek can tell he’s mostly just curious. Stiles doesn’t even hear Derek’s response, if he even answered his question, because he’s already drifting off. 

*

Stiles speeds down the block until he’s in the front of the McCall house to pull over on the side of the street, his car jumping the curb as he slams on his breaks. He jumps out of the car, storming towards Scott and Jackson.

They’re in the front yard, lacrosse sticks in hand, leisurely tossing the ball back and forth to each other. Stiles fumes even more. 

“ _You!_ ” Stiles hisses out, dragging Scott by the collar of his shirt before shoving him as hard as he can. “Are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met!”

“What are you talking about?” Scott asks, his eyes get as big as they do in the cartoons, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “What did I do?” 

“Don’t give me that kicked puppy look, you asshole!” Stiles hisses out and attempts to shove Scott back again. Scott and his stupid fucking _werewolf_ strength don’t even move; Stiles ends up losing his balance instead.

“What the hell are you babbling about, Stilinski?” Jackson calls from a few meters away, Stiles turns to give him the meanest glare he can muster up. 

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, grabbing Stiles’ attention back again. He looks completely confused, which only makes Stiles even more aggravated. 

“Derek told me.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, staring Scott down. Scott’s finally starting to look a little guilty, maybe even a little bit regretful, which makes Stiles feel angry. “I wish you weren’t a fucking werewolf or else I would punch you _so hard_ in the face right now.”

“Stiles, I’m sorry – ”

“You know I don’t care that you’re apparently some supernatural fluffy _dog_ , right?” Stiles cuts him off, letting out a sigh before shaking his head, “I’m just so fucking upset that you didn’t tell me.”

“Stiles – ”

“Save it, Scott. I really don’t want to fucking hear it.” Stiles glances between Scott and Jackson again until he gets this twisting feeling in his guts. It feels like something unsettling has made its way to the bottom of his stomach. “Six months since you’ve been turned, Scott. Six fucking months. Six full moons. And-and you didn’t even tell me, just kept lying.”

Scott opens his mouth to say something, but Stiles just shakes his head. He sighs again before turning on his heel and making his way back to his Jeep to speed away from Jackson and Scott and their stupid fucking werewolf-best-friends-forever-lets-lie-to-Stiles-for-months pact they have going on between them.

*

The doorbell rings and Stiles groans as he slowly picks himself up off of his computer chair and down the stairs. He opens the door to find Derek standing on the porch, with a wide smile and sunglasses resting on the brim of his ASU baseball cap. 

“Hello?” Stiles croaks out, taking in the rest of Derek’s appearance as he side-steps Stiles to get in the house. “Sure, sure come in.”

Derek rolls his eyes at him and grins, “Do you want to do something?”

“Like, um, like kinda like on a – ” Stiles stutters out and immediately flushes. 

“A date, yeah,” Derek grins even wider at him and raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response. 

“Is it going to be another spontaneous trip to New York?” 

Derek just laughs, 

In the car, Derek refuses to tell Stiles exactly where they are going, but he does let Stiles mess with the radio. He goes through each of the presets, trying to figure out what kind of music Derek listens to.

“You know, last year whenever I saw you in the parking lot, I always thought about how awesome it’d be to be in here,” Stiles breaks the silence, clicking on the next preset.

Stiles can hear Derek huff out a laugh, but it gets lost in the music when Stiles cranks up the volume when a Silversun Pickups song is on preset number five. He swears he can hear Derek singing softly with the radio, but when he turns his head to look at Derek, he gets distracted by his jaw and cheekbones and just _everything_. He resorts to looking out the window to avoid jumping over the counsel to maul Derek with his mouth or popping an awkward boner or something of that nature. 

They don’t drive much longer; Derek signals right and turns into a gravel parking lot and pulls into the nearest spot. Stiles looks out the window before turning back to Derek to see him smirking at him.

“Did you bring me here to _show off_?” Stiles asks, arm flailing out to gesture at the outdoor batting cages. This can only go horribly. 

Derek doesn’t respond, just lets his smirk get even more smug, before popping the trunk and getting out of the Camaro. Stiles scrambles out of the car to see Derek pulling a bag out of the trunk and locking the doors to his car. 

“Does this mean on date number two we can go to a lacrosse field?” Stiles asks, sarcasm dripping in his voice, as he jogs a couple paces to keep up with Derek. 

It _does_ go horribly. Derek actually manages to get a little crowd gathering around their cage while he hits and Stiles has to deal with people whispering _“oh my god is that Derek Hale?_ and _“he’s so good”_ and even a few _“man, he’s so hot.”_ the whole time. And when Derek signals for Stiles to get in the cage, he narrowly avoids taking a baseball to the ribs.

The worst thing that happens, though, is when Derek’s got his hands on Stiles’ hips, demonstrating how to hit, Stiles accidentally brings the bat back to his shoulder and ends up _hitting Derek on the side of his face with a baseball bat_. Stiles immediately drops the bat, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth that’s hanging open, before apologizing profusely. 

Thankfully, the small group that had gathered at first had mostly dispersed, so Stiles was only completely mortified that he _hit Derek in the head with a baseball bat_ without many witnesses.

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek laughs at him, spinning him around so they’re facing each other. He pulls Stiles closer to him and kisses him, fingers digging in his hips. Derek pulls back, before they get too carried away, and rests their foreheads together. “You wanna go get milkshakes?”

*

Stiles doesn’t get to spend any more time with Derek after that since he’s on the road again. The All-Star break is over the next day and he sets off for Arizona. The Dodgers have a stretch of sixteen away games, and Stiles knows that he won’t be able to see Derek for even longer than that. 

Derek fills the lull in Stiles’ summer through phone calls and texts and the occasional Skype call. 

Stiles had known what he was getting himself into, especially since Derek had been so tentative to this whole idea of them and dating. Most of the time, Stiles is okay with it. He still has Derek’s cheesy texts (although it’s never going to be as good as Derek in the flesh and blood in front of him) and he’ll stay up on the phone with Stiles until two in the morning, regardless of having a game or not the next day. 

The thing that Stiles hates the most is sleeping alone. He had gotten so used to the warm body next to his while Derek was home during the break. It had been like Derek was teasing him with his werewolf body heat and cuddly self. 

Stiles juts his bottom lip out into a pout and snaps a picture of him laying alone in his bed before sending the picture along with a text of _miss you xo_ to Derek. He isn’t expecting a text back, especially since it’s nearing midnight in California, which means it’s near two in the morning in the Midwest. 

Derek replies almost instantly, though. With a picture of himself, shirtless, and laying in the bed of some random hotel in Saint Louis, Missouri. He’s got a pout that matches Stiles’ and the text underneath the picture says _miss you too. sleeping alone sucks._

_you should definitely send me more pictures like this. preferably with eyeblack on._ Stiles texts back almost immediately. He can imagine the way that Derek gets that small grin on his lips and rolls his eyes at Stiles. 

_it’s like youre a whole new person now. didnt know you liked my eyeblack THAT much._

Stiles falls asleep with his phone pressed against his chest, pretending that Derek was lying next to him.

*

“Hale is taking a big lead at third against this lefty relief pitcher.” The broadcaster announces, “He’s creeping further and further off the bag, and I don’t believe this. Hale is waiting for Wilson to throw the ball.”

Stiles’ heartbeat is skyrocketing. He wishes that he didn’t have to listen to this on the radio; he wishes that he could see this laying on his bed in the comfort of his dorm room while Isaac is teasing him about watching too much baseball.

“Wilson goes into his windup, and I don’t believe this! Hale is stealing home! Kemp gets out of the way, as Hale slides underneath the tag! SAFE! HE’S SAFE! HALE HAS JUST STOLEN HOME TO WIN THE GAME!” The broadcaster yells, rejoicing with other men in the booth.

Stiles wishes that he was in his room again, watching Derek’s face as he touches the plate, wants to see his teammates crowding around him and celebrating the win around home plate. Stiles can feel his chest constrict and he feels so damn _proud_.

*

Derek isn’t able to see Stiles until mid-September. He’s been too busy either back in Beacon Hills after home games or traveling that they haven’t really even gotten many phone calls in, let alone visits to Stiles’ dorm room at UCLA. 

Stiles can’t complain, not really. Not when he knows that the second Derek steps on campus, he’ll have girls and guys left and right approaching him and flirting with him. Stiles has gotten used to stretches of two or three weeks of only seeing Derek on the T.V., he’s gotten used to the fact that baseball is _everything_ , but he still can’t get over the fact that they can’t go into a public place without Derek getting some kind of leggy brunette’s attention. 

But Derek’s on his way now after a victory on their home turf over the Angels and Stiles is getting a little bit of anxiety creeping up inside of him. He’s cleaned his side of the room two times already and has been trying to think of a convincing argument to get Derek to forget his diet for the night and order a pizza instead of going to the all-natural-Derek-approved-health-restaurant a few blocks away. If Stiles can help it, he’s going to make sure the only four people Derek sees tonight are the lady at the front desk, Stiles, his roommate, and the pizza delivery guy.

At seven-thirty, he gets a text from Derek saying _five min away_ and Stiles really starts to freak out. He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin but he doesn’t understand _why_. They’ve been doing this for months, but he still gets these weird feelings that he can’t name whenever Derek is in the picture. 

“You know how I said I had a boyfriend?” Stiles turns to face Isaac. He’s laying face down in his bend on the opposite side of the room.

“Yeah?” Isaac turns his head to the side to watch Stiles’ facial features.

“He’s on his way up the stairs now, and just.” Stiles stops to sigh and rub a hand over his face. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Why would I freak out?” He questions, just in time for there to be a knock on their door. Stiles gives him a look, it might be more pleading than he thinks, and Isaac quickly promises not to freak out. 

When he opens the door, he feels a smile automatically spread across his face, because he forgets about _everything_. It’s been too long since he’s seen Derek and all he wants to do is cast everything aside to follow Derek around the country so he can be with him and see him this happy after every win. 

Stiles grabs Derek by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him into the room, grinning at him and he’s about to lean in for a kiss until he hears Isaac clear his throat a few feet away from them. 

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles can feel his face flush, “Isaac, this is my boyfriend. Derek, this is my roommate.” 

“Derek _Hale_ is your boyfriend?” Isaac chokes out, eyes shifting from Stiles and back at Derek. “Dude, _nice_.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Derek says to Isaac, too busy wrapping himself around Stiles to properly introduce himself. “Stiles talks about you a lot.”

“Dude, no, he talks about _you_ a lot,” Isaac says, eyes still going between Derek and his roommate. “I guess I thought you didn’t exist or something, though. Because he would never show me a picture of you. But, dude, you’re dating _Derek Hale_!” 

“Okay, okay.” Isaac speaks again. “I promised Stiles I wouldn’t freak out and I’m going to assume that you guys want to be alone, so I’ll just–” 

Stiles doesn’t even pay attention to Isaac gesturing at the door and leaving. He’s too busy turning himself so he’s chest-to-chest with Derek, grinning like mad. His fingers toy with the hem of Derek’s shirt before slipping them under to press his fingertips against Derek’s back. 

“Could hear your heart beat from three miles away,” Derek murmurs, burying his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck. The puffs of his breaths caused a shiver to run up Stiles’ spine. “Thought the wolf was going to go crazy.”

Derek looks up at Stiles in time to see his eyes flash blue and Stiles is already guiding him to his bed; pulling his shirt off before falling back on his bed and pulling Derek on top of him. Derek’s mouth, hot and heavy, is on Stiles’ throat. Stiles makes a noise in the back of his throat, pulling Derek up to meet his lips.

Derek breaks away only long enough to pull his jacket and shirt off, flinging them somewhere on the floor. His mouth is back on Stiles’ neck, fingers running down over his skin. Stiles squirms, fisting his hands in his sheets. Derek bites at Stiles’ earlobe and pulls down his jeans and boxers. Derek continues to trace his tongue down Stiles’ body. Stiles squirms again and bites back a moan, hands squeezing the sheets tighter. He needs Derek to start paying attention to his dick, like now.

“Stop, I wanna hear you,” Derek says, low and dirty. He puts his mouth back on Stiles, sucking at the skin on his hip.

“Thin walls,” Stiles breaths out, “Derek, please”

Derek’s hand wanders lower while he’s still mouthing at Stiles’s skin, hand wrapping around Stiles’ dick and pumping slow and steady.

“Derek _please_ ” Stiles whines again, arching up into Derek’s touch. Derek finally, _finally_ , sends him a dirty smirk before his mouth is on Stiles’ dick, hand cupping behind his balls, and Stiles moans, arching up into his mouth. 

Everything else fades away because he can’t believe it took them _months_ to get to this, even though Stiles has been wanting to do this ever since Derek came up to him in that stupid bar, buying him a drink and offering him a ride home.

Stiles doesn’t last long, not when he glances down to see Derek look up at him, eyes flashing blue. “Derek, I’m gonna–” he chokes out, but Derek doesn’t pull away, just keeps bobbing his head and sucking harder and Stiles is coming down his throat. 

Stiles unclenches the sheets in order to wrap his fingers in Derek’s hair and yank him up towards his mouth. Their lips smash together, and Stiles’ tongue is begging for entrance. Stiles trails his hand down Derek’s body, fingers dipping in between his abdominal muscles, before reaching down for his zipper. 

Derek pulls away, panting, and rests their foreheads together. His pupils are blown, and he’s searching Stiles’ face for any indication to stop. 

“I want you to fuck me.” Stiles gasps out, “ _Please_ , Derek.”

Stiles pulls Derek into another kiss, pushing down the remainder of Derek’s clothing. Stiles whimpers into Derek’s mouth, weaving his fingers into the dark brown hair before biting down onto his bottom lip.

There’s a noise to the left of Stiles, but he can’t focus on anything but Derek’s body pressing down on him. Then, there are two slick fingers pressing into him and it burns, it burns so bad but it feels _so good_ and Stiles wants more. He wants more of Derek, wants him everywhere, he wants to _drown_ in Derek and his scent.

“More, Derek, _please_ ” Stiles pleads, before letting out a moan when Derek lines himself up with one hand with the other resting on Stiles’ hip. He presses in slowly, too slowly for Stiles, before starting to thrust into Stiles. It feels good, the burning is morphing into pleasure, and he wants _more_.

It doesn’t take long for Derek to find a rhythm before he’s fucking Stiles quickly but steady and Stiles can’t help but let another moan before fisting his hands into the sheets again and listening to Derek half-grunt, half-moan Stiles’ name. Derek finds the right angle, and it feels so fucking _good_ that Stiles doesn’t know how they went this long without it. 

And then Derek is coming, with a stifled moan and a bite into the crook of where Stiles’ neck ends and shoulder meets. Derek slides out of him, taking off the condom and tying it before tossing it into the garbage can at the foot of Stiles’ bed. He lays back down next to Stiles, allowing him to arrange himself with his head on Derek’s chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. 

“Missed you,” Stiles whispers into his skin.

“Season’s almost over,” Derek whispered back, wrapping his arms around Stiles.

“I know,” Stiles groaned, “Then no more eye black and baseball pants.”

“Way to kill the moment.”

*

Stiles is laying on his bed, mindlessly flipping through the channels on their T.V. as Isaac pretends to do an Econ project. He finally lands on ESPN to watch SportsCenter. He can hear Isaac make a sarcastic comment about Derek, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

“– I believe that he is going to be the number one choice for rookie of the year for the American League,” The man says matter-of-factly, “He’s having one heck-of-a season. I don’t know what the Angels would be doing without him.”

“The season is definitely winding down and the statistics are showing that two LA boys should be deserving of this award,” The other broadcaster says conversationally. “Trout for the American league, no doubt, and Hale for the National league,”

“I can’t argue with you there,” The first man says again, “Hale has been unbelievable this year. He’s definitely something that this Dodger program should be holding onto for as long as they can.”

“I guess the only way to find out, though, is next month when the results are in.”

*

“Hey, babe,” Derek grins at him through the computer screen. Stiles can’t wait until the season is over, so he can have Derek to himself until he starts Spring training all the way in Arizona.

“Hey,” Stiles grins back at him, fidgeting in his computer chair. He can never seem to be still when he talks to Derek via Skype. 

“So, tomorrow’s the last game,” Derek says conversationally. Stiles eyebrows furrow and his head cocks to the side. He’s confused, Derek usually doesn’t open with baseball-related things. 

“Yeah, it sucks that you guys aren’t gonna make it to playoffs.”

Derek just shrugs, an easy grin fits onto his face, “There’s always next year.”

“You in Beacon Hills tonight?” Stiles asks, looking behind Derek to see that he’s not in an unfamiliar hotel room or in the bedroom of his apartment. 

“Yeah, had to talk to my mom,” Derek says, shifting his chair, “Told me that they couldn’t make it to the game tomorrow.”

“Aw, dude, that’s such a bummer!”

“Yeah, anyways,” Derek grins at him, obviously not broken up about this, “I have a ticket for you if you’d like to go.”

“You’re being ridiculous; of course I’d love to go.” Stiles grins, but then bites his lip, feeling a bit nervous. “Come over and stay after the game?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of taking you to _my_ apartment building. Which is very roommate-less.” Derek lets a sly, dirty grin come across his face and Stiles wishes that they were together in this moment so he could kiss his off his face. 

*

The Dodgers swarm the field, celebrating with Kemp as he hits the game-winning two run homerun in the bottom of the ninth for the Dodgers to win their last regular season game of the year. They remain eight games back of the San Francisco Giants and have no chance of being the Wild Card pick, the team is ecstatic and Derek looks completely happy. 

Derek’s so happy that after the game he by-passes a reporter from ESNP and make his way right in front of Stiles in section 27, row 1. He hops over the fence, ignoring the fans around him in order to wrap his arms around Stiles and kiss him deeply. Stiles reaches up, pulling off Derek’s hat and placing it on his own head. Derek pulls away, laughing freely and happily, before pulling Stiles in again. 

“I got eye black on your face, sorry” Derek grins and he doesn’t look sorry at all. Stiles can’t get in a few words to protest because Derek’s pulling him in again, like kissing Stiles is the only thing he can do to survive. Stiles is so totally okay with that.

*

Stiles doesn’t think he’s actually ever seen Derek this nervous before. And he’s seen him before he met his dad, before a game, before the _All Star_ game, and in any of those instances did he seem nervous. Stiles supposes the most nervous he ever saw Derek was when he revealed the whole werewolf thing.

But that was nothing compared to his incapability to sit still while biting his lip and nervously awaiting the results of the winners of the Rookie of the Year award.

“I don’t even know _why_ I’m nervous,” Derek whines, sticking his thumbnail in his mouth. “It’s just a stupid award.”

Stiles swats Derek’s hand out of his mouth before taking it and tangling it together with his. He rubs soothing circles in his skin while Derek goes back to shaking his left leg. 

“Derek, hey Derek,” Derek stops glaring down at the tile on the floor to look up at Stiles and Stiles leans over to press a kiss to his jaw line and squeezing Derek’s hand. “You know you’re a great fucking player, okay? One award is not going to determine that. Everyone already knows that you’re one of the best in the league.”

Derek’s eyes are wide, his face is pale like he might throw up, and he’s squeezing on Stiles’ hand with his werewolf super strength, but Stiles’ heart still clenches and he can’t help but fit himself into Derek’s side. He remembers Laura telling him once that touch helps calm a werewolf down, and Stiles is intent on getting Derek to calm the fuck down.

“You know that I love you, right?” Stiles asks, squeezing back at Derek’s hand, “Whether you win or not, I’m still so fucking proud of you.”

A few minutes later, when Derek is congratulated on his accomplishment of being awarded the National League’s 2012 Rookie of the Year, he looks a lot less pale and lets a wide, bright grin come across his face.

Derek can’t stop alternating between grinning like mad and kissing Stiles and Stiles can’t think of a time that he’s ever seen Derek this happy. He can only let himself be wrapped up in Derek’s arms and let himself fall deeper and deeper. Because there is literally no where else that he would rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> yay for horribly cliche and cheesy endings.


End file.
